Grovel
by snarkvenger
Summary: Request. Reverse AU in which Daryl is the one handcuffed to the roof and Merle is the out on a hunt. "His eyes darted towards the door that moaned under pressure and then flicked all around the space for something, anything, that might help him escape. They landed on the toolbox, overturned near him, and the hacksaw lying just out of reach."
1. Tell It To The Frogs

**Disclaimer: **I do not own The Walking Dead or any of its characters or story lines.

Another NaNo WarmUp based on a request I received on Tumblr. I fell in love with this one so I'll definitely be continuing it as a multichapter fic. Hope you guys enjoy it! Please read and review and if you have any requests for me you can PM me with me on here or submit them to my ask on Tumblr (iaintbegginwho).

* * *

The road ahead stretched out like a great gray ribbon. The truck barreled on, wheels howling on the asphalt as Morales pumped the accelerator to get them as far away from that godforsaken city as possible. T-Dog's confession sat out in the open, balancing on a tightrope that stretched from one end of the long box truck to the other:

"I dropped the damn key."

Everyone was silent, the air thick with tension as each person took their turn glancing at T-Dog, then the newcomer, then out the window, and then cast their eyes to the floor. Rick, in turn, let his gaze sweep over them all before his eyes settled on the man in the driver's seat beside him. Everyone, including Rick himself, seemed to have something that they wanted to say taunting the tips of their tongues. None of them seemed to have the guts to let the words tumble out of their mouths and instead they let the silence linger on, uncomfortable as it was.

Morales broke first, the quiet ringing too long in ears. "I'll introduce you to everyone when we get to the quarry," he said, addressing Rick.

"I sure appreciate you lettin' me join you," Rick replied. "All of you," he said, turning to face the others. T-Dog nodded his head without looking at the cop. His eyes were trained on his shoes, mind clearly elsewhere. Andrea offered a small half-smile.

"Couldn't leave you out there after what you did for us," Jacqui assured, lighting touching Rick's arm with gratitude in her warm chocolate eyes.

"Listen," Morales said, turning Rick's attention back to truck's cab. "That man back there? Dixon? He wasn't exactly… sociable."

"Yeah, I gathered that," Rick replied. Morales smiled, laughing a bit with a slight shake of his head.

"Yeah," he said. "Well, all I'm tryin' to say is that no one's really gonna miss him."

"Except-" Andrea started, but then her brow furrowed and she bit her lip as though to stop herself. Rick looked at her quizzically but she sighed and shook her head.

"Except what?" he asked, glancing at everyone, waiting for one of them to speak up. Morales sighed again, even heavier this time. With no one else willing to speak, suddenly finding infinitely greater interest in their shoes than in the conversation, he answered for them.

"Merle."

* * *

The sun was beating down something fierce, burning his skin and the metal and the metal _on _his skin. Daryl was slumped over, his back supported by the thick piping he was chained to. His wrist had been rubbed raw and was peeling and blistering beneath the cuff. His shirt, already dirty, was completely soaked through with sweat and clung to his skin in all the wrong places. Sweat plastered his hair to his face and stung his eyes and the sun burned, burned, burned right to his core.

"Fuck," Daryl groaned. His voice was quiet, throat sore from shouting. He swiped at his forehead with the back of his unchained hand, although the only thing he really succeeded in doing was spreading the moisture around in a sticky mess. "Fuck!" he said again, louder.

Daryl let his head fall back, closing his eyes to the blaring sun. None of this fucking shit ever would've happened if hadn't have been for the damned cop, running in and acting like he owned the place. That's how they always acted. _Fuckin' pigs_, Merle used to snarl every time they passed one. He used to go on and on about how those idiots thought they ruled the world because their shiny badges gleamed like fuckin' royal crowns. _Fuck them_, Merle could conclude.

"Yeah," Daryl said to the empty air. "Fuck them."

His plan would have gone off without a damn hitch if that fuckin' _Rick Grimes _hadn't have come barreling up the stairs with the rest of the group.

"What the hell are you doing, Dixon?" the blonde woman, Andrea, he thought, had shouted.

"What's it look like I'm doin'?" he'd snapped back. In one swift motion he turned and stood and kicked back the open back he'd been rifling through. As he moved the bottle of pills he'd pilfered rattled in his pocket.

"It looks like you're stealing to me," Jacqui answered, lips pursed, arms crossed haughtily over her chest.

"You acusin' me 'a that?" Daryl growled, finger pointed, as he advanced on the woman.

"Hey, Dixon, ease off," Morales said, stepping between them. His hand bumped against Daryl's chest, causing the man to round on him.

"Don' touch me!" he snarled.

"Hey, hey, hey!" T-Dog interjected, trying to fit himself between the two. Daryl glanced between the two like a cornered animal, nostrils flaring, eyes narrowed. He shrugged his shoulder to get his crossbow off his back and lunged at whoever was closest- Morales.

Daryl had the other man pinned beneath him in seconds. There was a huge commotion behind him as Andrea shrieked and Jacqui yelped and T-Dog dove in to intervene.

"Git off'a me," Daryl ground out as his attention turned to T-Dog. He swung around, clipping T-Dog on the jaw his a heavy fist. In response, T-Dog's jaw set and he threw a punch of his own, catching Daryl's shoulder. The two went back and forth, punching and pushing at each other, grunting and breathing heavily. Andrea and Jacqui rushed to help Morales to his feet, all three of them screaming at the fighters to stop.

"That's enough," an unfamiliar voice decided. Daryl felt hands on his back, fists curling around the fabric of shirt.

"Hey!" he shouted, spinning around and swinging his arm knock the offender off balance. The cop- Daryl caught a flash of the tell-tale uniform- stumbled backwards and Daryl took the opportunity to elbow him hard in the ribs. He advanced further, pushing the cop backwards until the other man's eyes turned hard. He threw himself at Daryl, arm slamming against his throat and curling around his neck. Daryl coughed and choked and sputtered, pushing against the cop, barely managing to bite out, "Chokehold's illegal!"

"Yeah," the cop grunted. He shoved Daryl against the metal piping and then there was something cold on Daryl's wrist and the rattling of a chain and the click of a lock and when his assailant moved away Daryl tried to follow and was yanked harshly back by his new restraint.

"Fuckin'-" he started, head whipping back and forth between the handcuffs and the cop that had put them there. "What the fuck- you fuckin'- who th' hell are you?!"

"Officer Friendly," the cop answered sarcastically, back turned to Daryl as he made his way towards the others. How long ago had that been now? An hour? Two? And then the group split up, half going down into the store and the others staying up there on the rough, entirely ignoring Daryl as they tried to get a signal for their radio. And then they had an escape- a sports car siren blared down the street, a chorus of undead groans following after it until the sound of a rumbling engine and a creaking cab drowned it. They could hear the scrape of gravel and asphalt on heavy rubber tires and there was a scramble to get down to the truck before it pulled away.

"Th' hell're y'all doin'?" Daryl shouted. Jacqui glanced at him for the briefest of seconds before she swung open the heavy door to the staircase. He could hear her footsteps echo down the hall. Andrea stopped and looked to T-Dog, saying something like, "Hurry," before she, too, disappeared into the stairwell. T-Dog watched them both go. "What, yer gonna leave me here?" Daryl asked, voice much more desperate than he'd intended. "That yer plan?" he went on.

T-Dog's jaw set seriously and he dug his pocket until he was able to produce a small key, brandishing it for Daryl to see. Daryl strained against the cuffs, reaching his free out towards the other man. "What're ya waitin' fer? Hand tha' thing over, c'mon!" he said, rushed. A horn sounded, its residual ring in the air swallowed whole by the snapping teeth and hungry moans of the lingering geeks on the street. T-Dog swallowed thickly and, with one last glance thrown towards the door, he began to race towards Daryl.

Daryl stretched out his arm as far as he could, palm open and waiting.

And T-Dog tripped- over thin air or his own feet or some stray pebble, he wasn't sure- and he landed hard on his stomach beside Daryl, his hand opening to catch himself and the key tumbling free from his grip.

Daryl lunged for the key but the chain held him back. He barely felt the cool metal graze the worn, calloused pads of his fingers before the key bounced off the rooftop and rattled down the drain.

Daryl, eyes narrowed, glared daggers at T-Dog who was gaping at the drain that had swallowed Daryl's escape.

"I… I," T-Dog stammered. He pushed himself to his feet, shaking his head and backing away from Daryl. He looked at the door. The horn beeped again. Daryl was growling, breathing heavily, and swearing at him and all T-Dog could say was, "I'm sorry," before he turned on his heel and rushed towards the jail.

"What the fuck!" Daryl yelled, twisting against his restraints to look at T-Dog. "Th' fuck're you doin', man?! Yer jus' gonna fuckin' leave me?!" T-Dog met his eyes. Daryl slammed his open hand against the metal pipe he was tethered to, the thudding sound echoing in the air around him. "Yer gonna leave me here?!"

T-Dog wanted to say more but found himself unable. He shook his head, swallowed hard, and turned away.

* * *

"Maybe he won't come back," Amy said hopefully. The flickering firelight illuminated her face hauntingly as she clung to her sister- she'd barely let Andrea out of her sight since the group's return.

"His brother was with them," Dale said with a long sigh. "He's coming back."

"So what do we tell him?" Glenn asked, worriedly wringing his hands.

"The truth," Andrea stated matter-of-factly. "Daryl snapped, he was out of control. He could've done some serious damage if you-" she looked to Rick, settled between his wife and son, his arms pulling both of them close to his sides "-hadn't stepped in."

"I'm not sure Merle will take kindly to that," Dale mused.

"I'm the one who dropped the key," T-Dog said, glancing around the fire. "I'll tell him."

"Man, do you really wanna do that?" Glenn asked, concerned. "I've heard the way he's talked to you. And you saw how Daryl was today. What makes you think Merle'll be any different?"

"I cuffed him," Rick said, drawing everyone's attention to him. He looked at them all before proceeding. "I'll tell his brother."

"It's not a competition," Glenn said.

"Do you want to tell him?" Jacqui asked, eyebrows raised.

"No way!" Glenn replied. "I'm just saying." He sighed, ran a hand through his hair.

"I dropped the key," T-Dog repeated. "And I boarded up that door."

"What are you saying?" Andrea inquired.

"That Daryl's still alive up there," T-Dog said. "Before I left, I barricaded the door- not much, but enough. No more than twelve geeks could squeeze up there anyway. That wouldn't be enough to push the door open." He paused, staring intently at the fire. "He's still alive."

"We'll go back, then," Rick decided. "That's what we'll tell his brother. That he's still there, and that we're goin' to get him."

"We still need to decide who's gonna talk to him," Jacqui reminded.

"With the way that Merle is…" Glenn started, and then he chewed at his lower lip. "It just might sound better coming from a white guy."

"It's settled then," Rick said. "I'll talk to Merle."

* * *

Daryl didn't sleep much that night. He'd doze off here and there and then jerk awake in a cold sweat, heart racing. He was parched. His lips were dry. He could feel heat radiating off his sunburnt skin. His throat was raw and every now and again he'd allow a soft groan to slip past his lips just to be sure his vocal chords were still working.

"Fuckin' cop," he moaned. His eyes were open, head lolled back as he stared at the velvet sky. The stars danced a strange ballet across that deep blue stage. He blinked a few times but the world wouldn't stop its spinning.

His wrist hurt real bad. Blood was dried on his peeling skin and every miniscule movement aggravated the wounds. He tried really hard to stay still but he was just so _uncomfortable _and his stomach was in knots and his there was a dull ache in all of his muscles and all he could say was, "Fuckin' cop."

"He better be okay," was all that Merle said. He'd taken the news about well as the group predicted. He'd barely wanted to acknowledge Rick when he'd returned from his hunt with no more than a string of squirrels and two rabbits. A decent haul to the untrained eyes of the quarry group, but shit luck to a Dixon. He'd been tracking a deer, but a corpse beat him to it.

When Rick told Merle that Daryl had been left behind, the elder Dixon launched himself at the cop. Shane had been there, jumping at Merle, grabbing his arms and pinning the older man beneath his weight long enough for his partner to explain the situation.

"I'll git 'im myself," Merle had ground out.

"You wouldn't have much luck," Rick said. "That place is crawlin' with walkers. You'd have to pick through 'em all just to find the building your brother's stuck on. Besides," he added "I've got personal interest in goin' back. Dropped a bag of guns on the street. I'm lookin' to retrieve it."

Merle growled, fists curling and uncurling at his sides. "Fine," he spat. "Then ya 'kin show me th'way," he said. T-Dog had tried to offer his assistance but Merle wouldn't have it- Shane and Rick had to, once again, hold the older Dixon back until T-Dog withdrew his offer.

"If he's not goin', than I will," Shane said.

"My lucky day," Merle snarked. "Two fuckin' pigs goin' on th'road with me."

"We'll take Glenn, too," Rick said, choosing to ignore Merle's statement. Merle snarled but Rick held up his hand, explaining that Glenn knew the city streets better than any of them. Merle had consented, and then raised hell in any way he could until the small party was loaded into the box truck and on their way to Atlanta.

* * *

Daryl didn't know a whole lot about sunstroke, but unfortunately not having the signs and symptoms memorized did not except him from suffering it.

His brain had been jumping around all morning. The sun was a spark that set the whole city aflame in his eyes, tongues of flame lapping at him from every direction. He jerked to get away from them and every sudden movement sent waves of pain vibrating up his arm from the reopened wounds on his wrist. Fresh blood trickled along his skin, mingling with salty sweat old and new.

The morning songs of birds, few and far between, morphed into ugly, angry grunts and groans and then he heard the door creaking and his chest rose and fell rapidly as his lungs pushed out panicked breaths. His eyes darted towards the door that moaned under pressure and then flicked all around the space for something, _anything_, that might help him escape.

They landed on the toolbox, overturned near him, and the hacksaw lying just out of reach.

* * *

"Daryl!" Merle bellowed as he led the group inside the vacant department store. He was fast on his feet, hardly caring if the others were following. He found the stairs quickly and bounded up them two at a time in a desperate scramble to reach his baby brother. "Daryl!"

He threw aside the boards that T-Dog had used to protect Daryl and forced open the door. He couldn't see Daryl, not at first, but heard heavy breathing and a strangled, muffled sort of whimpering. Merle's heart was hammering hard against his ribs, panic bubbling just below the surface as his feet carried him towards the metal pipes in front of him.

Daryl was curled in on himself, shoulders shaking, body trembling. There were little specks of scarlet red decorating the gray slab of concrete beneath him and his hand was- a saw?

"Daryl!" Merle shouted and his brother's head snapped up. His eyes seemed unfocused, glazed over with pain, and Merle dropped down in front of him and tore the hacksaw out of his hand. "Th'fuck're ya doin', lil' D?" he asked much more harshly than intended as he reached towards Daryl's injured hand. "Fuck," he swore when he saw how deep the cut was- he was sure that flash of white underneath all the stringy tissue and slick blood was bone. There was a strip of cloth tied around his arm- a tourniquet, Merle realized. Another strip of fabric was in Daryl's mouth- something to bite down on to deal with the pain.

"M-Merle," Daryl breathed, the fabric dropping out of his mouth soaked in saliva and stained with bile. He was squinting at his brother like he was ghost. His chest rose and fell painfully and his breaths were worryingly short. He tried to turn his head as the footsteps of the others registered in his brain but it seemed to throw him off and he swayed before pitching to the side.

"Shit," Merle cursed, catching his brother. Daryl slumped against his chest. Merle growled deep in his throat. "You did this!" he yelled, looking over his brother's head to stare hard at Rick. His hands were gripping Daryl's shoulders, knuckles nearly paper-white. Daryl was still trembling, blood still seeping out of his self-inflicted wound. His breaths were getting slower. He pushed weakly against Merle, trying to sit himself up, but he hardly had the strength to lift his head. His free hand, coated with his own blood, wrapped around Merle's bicep and squeezed as tightly as he could managed. "You fuckin' pig!" Merle shouted at Rick. "You fuckin' did this!"


	2. Vatos

**Disclaimer: **I do not own The Walking Dead or any of its characters or story lines.

Firstly, I am so amazed with how well-received this story has been! Thank you all so, so much for your reviews, favorites, and follows! Secondly, I'm sorry for making you wait so long for this next chapter! NaNo happened. Life happened. Yeah. But it's finally here! Chapter 2! Based on "Vatos". Enjoy, drop a review, all that jazz.

* * *

"M-Merle," Daryl rasped, barely a whisper. Black dots speckled his vision and white hot pain emanated from the gash on his wrist. His left hand held tight to the other, squeezing his brother's arm as though Merle was the only thing tethering him to the world. His right arm was folded against his chest like a broken wing, blood still flowing freely, trickling across his skin and dripping onto the cement.

"Fuck," Merle swore, grip on his brother tightening as he moved to stand, carrying Daryl with him. "C'mon, little brother," Merle said as he slung Daryl's good arm across his shoulders. Rick went to Daryl's other side, seeming intent on helping the elder Dixon carry the younger. "I got 'im," Merle grunted stubbornly, trudging towards the door with Daryl in tow.

Daryl seemed somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, tiptoeing on the thin edge of consciousness. His head lolled to the side, resting against his brother's chest, eyes half-lidded. His feet dragged almost drunkenly along the floor as he struggled to keep pace with Merle. He pushed on his brother weakly, as though he were trying to support himself, but every little shudder of his exhausted body only made Merle tighten his grip. Rick was still close by, hovering, hands out should Daryl slip from his brother's grasp. This only seemed to make Merle more determined to bear his brother's weight on his own.

"Oh, my God," Glenn groaned, grimacing at the gaping wound on Daryl's wrist.

"Shut up an' git th' door," Merle demanded. Glenn shook his head, bringing himself back to reality, and grabbed the door handle. He held the door open for the Dixon brothers as Merle carefully maneuvered Daryl into the stairwell. Rick was still a few paces behind them, ready to spring into action if he was needed. Shane followed behind his partner, running a hand through his hair and sighing heavily as he did. Glenn paused for a moment before trailing after them all.

"We gonna stitch 'im up or what?" Shane said as they all spilled into the next room. Merle had already deposited Daryl onto the countertop; the younger Dixon still held tight to the elder with his good hand, his head still resting in the curve of Merle's neck.

"How y'wanna do tha'?" Merle grumbled. He didn't bother to listen for the cop's response, if there was one. Instead, his attention turned one hundred percent to Daryl. "Stay with me, bro," he said, squeezing Daryl's upper arm. Daryl fought to keep his eyes open and nodded his head. "Alrigh', easy," Merle said, pushing his brother down as gently as he could. Daryl still had his injured hand cradled against his chest. "Lemme look," Merle demanded. Daryl whimpered in response, but still rolled towards Merle, holding his injured wrist out towards his brother. "Christ," Merle breathed as he inspected the wound. Daryl hissed when he touched it.

"We have to stitch 'im up," Shane repeated.

Merle ignored him. When he'd finished his inspection of the wound he started glancing around for anything in the room that might be useful. When he found the stove beside Daryl an idea burst into his brain. Merle fished in his pocket until he was able to produce a lighter. He moved around his brother, one reassuring hand squeezing Daryl's calf as he passed. He flicked on one of the burners, heart pounding as he sparked the lighter and held it towards the burner. The flame caught quickly and Merle sent up a silent a prayer to whatever fucking god had blessed this room with a gas stove. Merle put the lighter away and pulled out his knife and slid it onto the counter for later use. He then started digging through the cabinets in the room.

"What do you need?" Rick asked.

"Alcohol," Merle answered without turning away from his task. He rifled through cabinet after cabinet, sniffing at bottles he found, frowning when each one just didn't suit the need.

"I'm not sure if now's a great time to drink," Glenn said nervously, voice wavering.

"Not to _drink_, idiot," Merle growled.

"Disinfectant," Shane explained. He was bent down, poking through an old cabinet. He swiped something out of it, inspecting it briefly before offering it to Merle. "Here." Shane passed the other man a small bottle of vodka. Merle inspected the label impatiently. "80 proof," Shane said. Merle nodded and turned to his brother. He roughly grabbed the piece of cloth that had been tied around Daryl's arm. Daryl bit his lip, but wasn't able to hold back his little whimper at the pain.

"Easy, Darylina," Merle said almost absently as he retied the cloth as tight as he could make it. "Easy," he repeated, unscrewing the cap on the vodka bottle. Cleaning the wound was messier than it should have been, the alcohol spilling all over Daryl's skin and pooling on the counter, mixing with his brother's blood in a strange, sticky solution. Some even dripped down on the floor, little droplets assaulting Merle's boots. Daryl hissed and tried his damndest to curl in on himself, but Merle kept an arm in place to block him. "C'mon, don't be a pussy," he chided and Daryl snarled back at him.

"You'll need this," Rick said, taking the knife. Merle looked at him over Daryl and curtly nodded his head. Then Merle tore his wristband off and handed it to Daryl. "Bite down on it," he instructed. "Yer gonna need it."

The younger Dixon needed no more encouragement. He clenched the leather band between his teeth and waited.

"What are you doing?" Glenn asked, brow creased in confusion and concern as Rick thrust the knife into the flame.

"Cauterizing the wound," Shane explained. Glenn said nothing—he merely grimaced and groaned. When Rick had heated the metal blade of Merle's hunting knife he carefully handed it back to its owner.

"Alrigh', Dar," Merle said, taking hold of Daryl's forearm. He scanned for the bloodiest spot on Daryl's wrist and pressed the hot metal against his brother's skin. Had the leather cuff not been in Daryl's mouth he would have screamed at the sensation. As it was, he bit down so hard it hurt, his breath coming out in ragged gasps, guttural grunts vibrating in his throat. "Yer fine," Merle told him as he eased the blade along the wound. "More," he said eventually, passing the knife to Rick who immediately plunged it into the fire. Daryl was panting harshly, Merle's wristband still clenched between his teeth. Merle patted his side. "Yer okay," he promised.

The knife was returned to Merle again and he sucked in his breath as he placed it right where he'd left off. Daryl jerked and Merle curled his fingers tighter around his brother's arm, saying nothing save for one grunt. He was finished quickly and tossed the knife to the side, replacing it with the vodka bottle. He drained it of its remaining contents, coating the angry red mouth of the burn with the last of the alcohol. Daryl's body was rigid under Merle's grasp, every muscle tense, even after the bottle had been empty and allowed to roll away, now entirely useless.

"C'mon, lil' D, yer good," Merle said, squeezing Daryl's shoulder. Daryl let out a breath, the wristband falling out of his mouth. There were creases the leather, perfect imprints of Daryl's teeth. Beads of sweat were adorning every inch of visible, incredibly reddened flesh. Daryl's breathing was shallow and harsh.

"We should get 'im antibiotics," Rick suggested.

"Where?" Shane asked, hands on his hips. "Hospital's too far into the city—we'll get ourselves killed."

"What about a clinic? Doctor's office?" Rick asked. He looked from Shane to Glenn expectantly.

"I-I don't know about any clinics," Glenn admitted.

"Don' need 'em," Daryl quipped. Still lying on the countertop, the younger Dixon flipped himself onto his back and, with his good hand, fished in the pocket of his jeans until he produced a small orange pill bottle. "I got this," he said in a low, hoarse voice. "All I could find." Merle took the bottle, squinting at the tiny print on the label.

"Doxycycline," he said, a slight smile pulling at one side of his mouth. "Shit, bro. C'mere, sit up." Merle's hand slid along Daryl's back, guiding him into a sitting position with his legs dangling over the side of the counter. Daryl blinked a few times, lightheaded from the movement, still feeling the dull ache in his wrist. Merle kept a hand on his arm, steadying him as Daryl stubbornly pushed himself off the counter. He still leaned against it heavily, Merle's grip on him tightening to keep him from falling.

"M'fine," Daryl mumbled, pushing away from his brother. He reached for the pill bottle. Merle twisted off the cap and shook a few into Daryl's waiting hand. The younger nodded his thanks and tossed the pills into his mouth, grimacing as he dry-swallowed the medication.

"Should git some water in ya, too," Merle said. Daryl nodded again, but didn't seem to paying much attention as he undid the tourniquet on his arm, letting it fall onto the tiled floor.

"I've got a bottle," Glenn said. He swung his backpack around to his front, allowing it to double as a sort of barrier as he approached the Dixon brothers. After a minute of rooting around he produced a Poland Spring bottle. He uncapped it before handing it to Daryl. Daryl raised the bottle to his lips and titled his head back to drink. After a few slow, testing sips, Daryl got greedier, gulping down the water until he'd nearly drained the bottle.

"Yer gonna make yerself sick," Merle warned. Daryl scowled, but still pulled the bottle away from his mouth. Merle swiped it from him for good measure, tipping back his head and emptying the rest of the water into his own mouth. Glenn looked like he wanted to say something. "What?" Merle snapped at him, crushing the plastic in his fist.

"N-Nothing," Glenn stammered. Merle snarled, tossing the bottle onto the ground. In the following silence an echoing groan sounded from the hall. Every muscle in every body tensed, each armed hand reaching for its weapon. Daryl made to grab at his crossbow only to realize he didn't have it. With an aggravated growl, he swiped Merle's abandoned hunting knife off the counter.

The sound of shuffling feet grew nearer. Rick and Shane moved as a unit towards the door, each with their side arm in hand, raised and ready to fire. Merle, too, moved forward, Daryl right behind him, fist clenched around the hilt of his brother's knife. Glenn quietly placed himself at the back of the group, eyes darting around for something that might bash in some geek's head if he needed to.

The first walker stumbled into the room, her tongue lolling out of her mouth, split down the middle. She growled around it. Her eyes, so eerily blue they were nearly translucent, flicked over each hardened face before a horrid, guttural, sputtering sound leaked from her throat.

"You are one ugly skank," Daryl drawled, pushing himself past his brother and grabbing the corpse by the shoulder. The walker growled, twisting her neck and snapping her teeth, trying to get a hold of him until the blade cut through the top of her head and she toppled to the ground. Daryl yanked the knife free, wiping the gore off on his jeans. The thump of the limp body hitting the floor garnered attention from others. Daryl scowled, peering into the hall. "Bitch brought friends," he said.

Merle grunted and was at his brother's side in an instant, slamming the butt of his pistol into the soft skull of the next walker before it could even get out one hungry growl. The third barreled forward, reaching forward with rotten, half-decayed hands that had thin bones in place of three fingers. The fleshy ones still curled in the air, desperate to grab hold of a meal.

Merle shoved the walker back and Daryl followed it, shoving his knife right into the thing's rotten eye. Thick, dark blood oozed from the wound as the younger Dixon grabbed hold of the walker's head to hold it steady. It twitched in his grasp and with a primal snarl Daryl twisted the blade. The sound of metal on bone laid beneath the squelch of blood and flesh and there was a quick metallic _shing!_ as Daryl removed the weapon. Behind him, one gunshot sounded. Both Dixon's turned to see Shane standing over the walker Merle had left writhing on the floor. The corpse was still now, dead twice over.

Like that, everything changed. There was movement deep in the shadows, moans and grunts resounding off the walls. Glenn jolted, heart hammering in his chest. Rick tensed, Shane growled, and the Dixon brothers shared a glance before the whole group jerked into action. The walkers spilled from every nook and cranny of the place, staggering towards the men with their grimy hands reaching out.

Glenn grabbed a knife from the block beside the stove and, though trembling, he slashed an oncoming corpse across the face. The thing let out a pained wail, one of its hands covering the gash as though it could catch the pouring blood. The other blindly searched for Glenn. One shot from Rick's Python had it on the ground, lifeless.

"C'mon!" Shane shouted elbowing one walker in the chest and kicking another backwards into Daryl's borrowed knife.

"Watch yer back!" Merle called to Daryl as he fired at a geek inching dangerously close to his brother. Daryl swung around in time to clear the way for the thing fall flat on its face. He dug the heel of his boot into its temple before hastily stepping over it. Merle fired again, ahead of himself this time, clipping another dead freak in the jaw. He knelt down by it, slammed the butt of his gun hard into its head.

"Let's _go_!" Shane bellowed over the chaos. He fired three shots, killing two walkers and injuring another. The injured one tripped over its fallen allies, its horrid shriek following it down to the ground. "This way!" Shane instructed, running towards Merle. The elder Dixon reached to his side, his fingers grazing Daryl's arm to grab the younger's attention. They both charged down the dark corridor, Shane hot on their heels. They could hair frantic footsteps father behind them, surely Rick and Glenn.

"Shit!" Merle cursed when greedy hands brushed his ankle. He growled in annoyance—the offender was legless, lying on the ground in a sad, bloody heap, its insides sprawled across the floor. Merle struck its temple with the heel of his boot before carrying on.

"Fuck," Daryl swore behind him. Two had converged on him, teeth snapping. His brain was still muddled from the sun; he was lightheaded, dehydrated, and through it all he grit his teeth and jammed his knife into the nearer corpse's forehead. A shot from behind him took out the second. He glanced back to see Rick and Glenn catching up, the former with his gun raised, still smoking from its last shot. Daryl didn't spare the extra time to thank the cop; his confusion shifted to determination all over his features, ambition deep in his eyes as he whirled around, knocking another walker off balance and driving his knife into its head.

He aggressively tore the blade free and sprinted as fast as his tired legs would carry him to catch up to Shane and, more importantly, Merle.

"Christ," he heard Shane groan. The hum of hunger was clear ahead of them, a great mob traveling towards them. Slow moving as they were, there were too many for the small group to deal with—with three guns and two knives it was a miracle they'd made it this far. Merle growled, primitively from the very back of his throat, before he spun around and ducked into a stairwell. Shane looked at the door, still swinging open on its hinges, and took another glance at the oncoming storm before swearing and throwing himself after Merle. Daryl was quick to follow, arriving just in time to see Merle kick the glass away from the large window on the first landing of the staircase.

"Man—" Shane started, but Merle growled again.

"Y'see another way out?" he demanded.

"He's right," Daryl agreed.

"C'mon, brother," Merle said. He kicked away some of the remaining glass before jumping through the gap. Some jagged edges caught his skin, bringing little trails of blood trickling down his arms as he crashed onto the slim section of roofing below. Daryl was next, narrowly avoiding slamming into his brother. They both looked up, seeing if the rest of the group would follow. There was a frightened cry from inside, two shots. "Let's go," Merle said, already moving to the edge, finding the fire escape. He lowered himself onto it carefully. Daryl watched the window for a moment longer, listening to the scuffle above him. Another terrified yelp, another shot. Muffled voices. "Daryl!" Merle said, slamming his hand against the brick wall. Daryl shook his head, refocusing himself, and dropped into the metal stairs beside Merle.

There was a crash from overhead. Daryl looked back to see Rick on the landed, panting and sweat with blood smeared across the front of his shirt, his arms, his neck. Shane was next, and after a moment's hesitation Glenn was free, bumping into Shane in his landing. Merle was already making his way down the ladder. Daryl growled, brain working hard to make a decision. The walkers could still be heard. Their bloody faces were pressed against the remaining foggy glass of the window.

"C'mon!" Daryl shouted before disappearing down the ladder, too. Merle was already waiting in the alley, tense and alert, when Daryl arrived. The others were close behind him. Rick seemed rattled and once they were on the ground Shane kept patting his shoulder, his back, assuring him that everything was fine. Glenn was shaken. It seemed he'd dropped his knife somewhere along the way because his hands were now empty. He kept nervously adjusting the straps of his backpack.

The alley seemed clear. The all stood there, looking at each other and at their surroundings, trying to calm themselves. Shane started pacing, rubbing his head as he did. He paused and rounded on the group, eyes specifically zeroing in on Rick.

"We need to get back. _Now_," he declared. Rick, though, shook his head.

"No. We still have to get the guns."

"Guns?" Daryl asked, intrigued, questioning eyes landing on his brother. Merle nodded. Daryl did, too, and looked back to the two cops.

"What he have to do is get back to the camp," Shane argued.

"The camp needs guns," Rick insisted. "What did that just prove?" he asked, pointing upwards at the building. "What if they attack the camp like that? How are those people gonna defend themselves?"

"The bag isn't far from here," Glenn added. He seemed calmer, now, his breathing more level. He swiped at his forehead with the back of his hand. "Just down that way," he said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. "We run in, we grab it, we run out."

"I ain't riskin' my life for—"

"Shane," Rick said.

"Listen," Glenn added. He pulled a map from his pocket, crouched down and opened it in front of himself. Shane looked annoyed, nostril's flaring like an angry bull's, but one look at Rick made him comply. The cops bent down on either side of Glenn, eyes on his map. The Dixons shared another quick glance. They didn't crouch with the others, but hung back, just close enough to still be considered part of the group. "The van is here, and the guns are here," Glenn started, pointing to a spot on the map. "This is the alley I dragged you—" he glanced up at Rick briefly, "into when we met."

"We station two of us there," Rick said, putting his finger next to Glenn's on the map.

"And two with me here," Glenn said, agreeing, as he pointed to the next alley over. "I run out, grab the bag, meet you here," he dragged his finger along the paper to show the path. "When I get there, we give a signal to the other two, waiting back here."

"Regroup, get back to the van," Shane concluded.

"And git the hell outta here," Merle finished. "Alrigh'. Daryl 'n I'll meet ya here," he said, pointing to the second alley Glenn had indicated. He looked to his brother, who nodded his agreement. Glenn, Shane, and Rick all looked to each other before nodding as well. A signal of three sharp whistles was agreed on before the brothers made their way swiftly to their post.

"What's the real plan?" Daryl asked when they were out of earshot of the others.

"Help 'em git th'guns back to camp," Merle said. "Go back with 'em. Tonight, wait 'til they're all out, take th' guns, ammo, whatever we can an' hit the road."

Daryl was thoughtfully quiet for a moment. "Okay," he agreed after a while. They settled into the alley to wait. It wasn't long before the first three whistles sounded. Merle had his gun ready. Daryl tightened his grip on his knife. They watched as Glenn snuck into the street, swiftly and carefully. His eyes darted up and down the road as he crept towards the bag. He snatched it up quickly and darted towards the Dixons.

"Shit," Glenn cursed as he skidded into the alleyway.

"Give 'em to me," was the first thing Merle said, reaching for the bag. Glenn did have much of a choice as the elder Dixon grabbed the strap of the duffel bag and slug it over his shoulder. "Give the signal," he ordered. Daryl obliged, sending out three quick, high whistles before turning around to follow Glenn and Merle towards the van.

"Y'got some balls fer a Chinaman," Daryl quipped, clapping Glenn on the shoulder as he caught up with him. Glenn let out an annoyed huff.

"I'm Korean," he corrected.

"Whatever," Merle said.

"That's our guns!" a foreign voice ran out. The three stilled, deep scowls creasing the Dixons' brows. Glenn just seemed confused as he turned towards the sound.

"What the shit?" Daryl asked, whirling around as well. A skinny kid was running up the alley, anger written all over his features.

"That's our guns!" the kid repeated.

"Like hell they are!" Merle practically laughed as his brother's elbow colliding with the kid's collarbone, sending him crashing to the pavement. Daryl loomed over the teen, pinning him down with one arm, holding his knife dangerously close to the kid's face. The kid whimpered and squirmed under Daryl's grasp.

* * *

Rick and Shane stayed low, watching carefully as Glenn sprinted into the street.

"Kid's got guts," Shane observed. Rick merely hummed his response, focused on watching the youth reach his destination. A hungry snarl from behind drew his attention away from Glenn. The walker was ambling from the other side of the alley, grunting and groaning to itself on its way. Shane had his side arm aimed and ready but Rick held out his hand.

"Wait," he said. Shane's brow creased, clearly annoyed.

"Man, come on," he complained.

"Noise," Rick said simply. Shane looked like he wanted to argue, but held his tongue. He kept his eye on the walker through, and his gun ready; just in case. Rick kept his gaze trained front, allowing his friend to keep tabs on the stumbling corpse. It wasn't long before those three whistles pierced the air. "Signal," Rick said, tapping Shane on the side as he straightened up Shane glared at the walker once more before following his partner carefully into the street. Rick paused by his hat, which Glenn had left behind in favor of the guns.

"You serious?" Shane asked when he saw what Rick was so intent on. A small smile tugged at Rick's lips as he shrugged and bent down, grabbing the hat to perch it on top of his head.

"Completes the look," he said, shrugging again. Shane actually let out a laugh at that and clapped his friend on the shoulder.

"Whatever you say, man," he said. A sudden yelp caught both their attention, had them both on guard in seconds. It was coming from the alley the others were meant to be waiting in. They took off towards the source, all lightheartedness abandoned as they practically raced each other towards the alleyway. Shane was cut off when he was struck from the side, a blow strong enough to send him tumbling to the ground. Rick reached out to help but was hit from behind. He crashed onto his hands and knees and whirled around just in time to grab the offender by the shirt.

"What the _fuck_?!" Shane growled, throwing himself at the first attacker, pinning him to the ground. Rick wrestled with the second, his Python skittering along the pavement as he struggled to gain the upper hand.

"Filipe!" they heard over the struggle. "They got our guns, Filipe! Help!"

* * *

"H-help!" the kid called out. "They got our guns! Help!"

"Ain't no one gonna help you, son," Merle scoffed. The kid still strained against Daryl's hold, calling out for help, screaming about how "they got our guns, man, help!" and Merle growled deep his throat and aimed his own pistol at the kid's head. The teen whimpered again, trying to pull away as the cool barrel poked at his temple.

"Filipe!" he called. "They got our guns, Filipe, help!" He tried to kick and managed to hit and knee Daryl's legs a few times, which only angered the younger Dixon more and made his grip tighter.

"Cut th'shit," Merle growled. He pressed the gun against the kid's temple. The teen whined and tried to turn away.

"Guys," Glenn said, voice shaky. "We've got a problem."

"Huh?" Merle glanced over his shoulder to see that the 'problem' Glenn was talking about was two walkers, drawn by the scuffle. The Dixons growled together and shoved the kid away from them. Daryl raced forward, shoving his knife through the top of one walker's head. As he struggled to yank his weapon free, he kicked at the second walker down, holding it with his foot.

The kid took advantage of his newfound freedom, lunging forward, grabbing at the bag slung across Merle's back.

"Woah, woah!" Glenn shouted, reaching for the stranger to pull him away.

"That's our guns!" the kid insisted, twisting away from Glenn while fighting to maintain his grip on the bag.

"Like hell!" Merle hissed, whirling around, tearing the bag free from the boy's grasp. A few handguns fell loose, skidding across the asphalt. The kid lunged for the bag again and Merle aimed his own pistol down, firing once before shouting, "Let's go!"


End file.
